The dark of Night
by Distopia
Summary: He was cold, he was untouchable, and at night, his memories swam with the blood of the fallen. But she never said a word. ONESHOT


A one shot that worked itself out over several different nights, all occurring very late in the night/morning. A peek into the complex mind of a born again silver fox, and what he sees of his life.

The Dark of Night

**Summary: **He was cold, he was untouchable, and at night, his memories swam with the blood of the fallen. But she never said a word.

In the darkness of night, the wind blew cold.

Huddled beneath a spray of evergreens, the spiky needles pressing sharply against my back, I narrowed my eyes against the glare. Soft and bright, the brilliance of reflected light stung my gaze, even as protective liquid welled to safeguard them. Beneath the dazzling radiance of the moon, the gentle fall of snow seemed that much brighter, that much starker, than it had ever seemed before.

And for one who has seen as many winters as I have, that is a very strange thing, indeed.

The barest of shivers, an involuntary muscle spasm, was all I allowed myself to feel as the cold nipped at my body, sheltered as it was. Despite the thickness of the leafy boughs wound tightly around me, or the slenderness of the delicate vines that blocked the inevitable gaps, I was still cold.

Such a strange thing, too feel- this utter numbness, this floating lassitude and general un-caring. For this moment in time, there is nothing but the soft whisper of wind against the trees, the barest whisper of sound as snow drifts gently from the sky, and the groaning creaks of the trees as they bend before winters wrath.

And in the cave mouth before me, sheltered buy innumerable great pines, the faintest hint of the snap and crackle of a fire.

Tiredly, wearily, I press thumb and forefinger to the bridge of my nose, golden gaze hooded against the dazzling light that seeks to blind me. Not much longer will I last, here in this never ending darkness and chill. For all of my silver colouring, the fall of moonlight that marks my hair, and the pewter shading of ears and tail, I am no more infallible against temperature than any other creature.

An exception springs to mind, bringing a well of laughter to lap at my throat. Short and dark haired, fiery in both gaze and temperament, my comrade in arms nonetheless presents such an icy, stoic façade to the world, proving the truth of his heritage. Child of the void and the spark; of death and creation; of sweet, numbing bliss, and its opposite, the heady rush of quicksilver emotions.

He, of all who I have known, is the most secretive and yet most open. Swift as a streak of light against my gaze, he weaves a dance of endings with fire burning brightly in one hand, and the quicksilver gleam of sharpened death in the other.

My companions, comrades for the short journey that my other self will make through life, are so _innocent_; so vulnerable, so soft, despite what they may think.

Each has gone through innumerable hardships- one, died and born again twice over yet, another, tribulations and trials of the heart testing him countless times across the path of his life. In some way, I love them all; for their spark, their courage, for their naiveté and innocence.

Yes, even he- dark of gaze and past, so cynical and withdrawn. Innocence sparks within him at the strangest of things, and for I who have seen so much, such moments are to be treasured.

After so many years, and so many lives, it pangs me to think that this may be the end; that my death shall catch me upon an icy hillside, wound in pines, and frozen rocks. Soft and yet harsh, from where they have been worn, the silky sweep of my garments slide across my skin. Secreted within hidden folds, gems clink and murmur softly amongst themselves; I spare a bitter laugh at the thought of them.

To think that I, a king amongst thieves, a prince among my own kind, would die over such petty baubles…?

Wearily, I force my aching limbs to move, to rise from their frozen position. No matter my mastery of them, plants alone will not prove my salvation this night. There is one who could- would, if I laid down my pride and but asked- and yet he is so far from me; far from reach, but not from thought.

Clawed fingers gently separate the skeins of moonlight that sweep to my hips, an enchanting cloak of star dusted elegance. Time is my enemy; if only I had of had _more_ of it, I could have escaped, been beyond this frozen waste before night drew her drapes across the land.

Bare feet sinking through the crust of candied ivory, I stumble, numb limbs flailing as I seek to right myself. With much effort, I do so; in this ice, this chill, I will not call upon nature to help me redeem myself.

Struggling, great gouts of snow flying about me, I wade through its depths, heaving my body up onto the slight, inclining ledge that makes the lip of the cave. I am tired- so very, very tired. My life, it seemed, had been nothing but one endless fight, a constant struggle for survival.

Hidden within my false form, the softness of my comrades had dulled me, exposed me, and when the realities of life where shown to me once more, I was wounded far beyond what I had ever expected. And to think, that this very betrayal had come from a woman; a sex that I had once trivialised, then held in high esteem, and now… Now, I don't know what to think of them, my opposite, my eternal partner in this dance called life.

My temperament has been honed, sharpened to a keen edge; I appreciate the skill it takes to use feminine wiles in much the same way as I appreciate a particularly clever puzzle, a strong opponent, and a barbed remark. Annoying, frustrating, but in the end, defeatable.

Which was, in the end, what lead me to stealing the jewels of the most famous of seductresses, though I escaped with more wounds, once again, than I had expected. And this left me alone, wounded, and in the bitterly cold wastes of the north.

Stalwart and as immovable as the mountains that framed this small valley, my pride refused to allow me to accept the helping hands that had been extended towards me so many times. It was _I_ who had seen the millennia pass so many times, _I_ who was their better in knowledge, experience, in combat and in life…

And yet, why was it, that I felt like they could teach me so much?

The thought still plagues me, even years past when it was first conceived. Wearily, I echo physically the bone deep sadness that sweeps through me, the sighing of my breath briefly ruffling the frozen crystals that support my body.

Collapsed upon the threshold, I allow myself to relax- so briefly, for a moment, no more- despite the dangers that the action holds. Wearily, my blurring gaze tracks the contours of the rough, jagged cave mouth, and faintest glimmers of light glinting within. Ever moving, even in the depths of my exhaustion, my ears flicker back and forth, picking up the gentle murmur of fire song in the darkness.

Shaking, shuddering, limbs quaking with effort, I push myself to my knees and thence my feet, staggering forward once more. The rough, sharp rock brushing against my palm jolts me from the faint trance that I had fallen into, and I force myself into some measure of alertness.

A low, self-deprecating growl rumbles in my chest, but it is weak, and lacks any real force; much in the same as I, myself, do. Concentrating on my limbs, I begin to walk forward, tail a limp, sodden mess that hangs behind me, swishing wearily in a half-hearted effort to rid itself of the water that it has accumulated.

Mournfully, I pause and glance backwards at the appendage. Once, eight more had frisked beside it; now, I am so weak that I only retain the paltry few tails that I have earnt once more when in my spirit form.

Fighting the urge to sigh, give it all up and curl up in a corner and await my inevitable death, I focus my senses on my surroundings. Step buy agonising step, I lurch deeper into the cave, the surfaces that I tread upon oddly jagged and smooth, the patterns varying beneath my numbed limbs.

When the faintest amount of light reaches me from around a serpentine bend, I am enheartened; energy dredged up from some dark corner of my soul, I hurry forward, hoping for safety. As if reflecting the brief stir of my emotions, the walls around me wink and flash with light, but, surely this is merely a trick of my exhausted mind- no walls that I know of are faceted and shine with so many colours…

But my brief surge of movement quickly wastes itself, and I crumple slowly, breath harsh and ragged in the stillness of the night. It's so different, the darkness in here- it isn't soft, but it isn't hard, either, simply a mixture of both.

Chuckling darkly at the turn of my thoughts, I finally give in, crawling around the corner. But my strength, once so vaunted, has finally surrendered; I can feel the icy chill of the onset of fever burning at my limbs, racing through my veins and striking me down.

So close, and yet so far away, I both sense and hear the snap and crackle of twigs and vegetation giving up their lives in explosions of heat. Briefly, once more, I let my eyes shutter and close, knowing that the rich, burnished gold of them must have long ago faded to a flat, dull grey-yellow.

It is hard- so very, very hard- to simply draw a breath; to pull oxygen within my lungs, to hear the faltering beat of my heartbeat echoing in my ears; the silent rasp of furred paws on stone…

Jerking slightly, muscles stiffening as I fight to meet this newly perceived threat, I can find only enough strength to lift my head from the floor. Bleak hopelessness covers me in a drowning wave of despair; I will die. The last, remaining dregs of my energy cannot save me, nor the human soul entwined within my own, howling and screaming and crying and weeping as he is.

But… I shall not die without dignity. Determined, I gaze back into the orbs of my fate. For a moment, nothing registers except the warm glow of the fire, the shadows it plays against the rocks, and the tendrils of my own hair, limp and waterlogged, that have spilt over my shoulder.

The smallest of things garners my attention; the barest hint of fire-shine gleam on a dusky onyx coat, the sleek glide of fur and muscle, the sheer, breath taking _beauty_ of the form before me.

Automatically, instinctively, I inhale, focusing my entire being on the one before me. She is young, and strong, but bears the weight of many years upon her. Her coat, so sleek and utterly _black_, ripples and shines with good health, the silky fur sheeting over muscles of immovable steel.

Against the darkness of her body, her eyes- such a bewitching colour, the exact shade of the sea of a sunny day, all blues and greens and shifting tides- are impossibly deep and bright, almost glowing in the darkness that coats us both.

We remain like this, for how long I cannot say; the huntress, supreme, powerful being in the prime of her youth; and I, the bedraggled, near to death fox that has fallen into her den.

Mutely accepting my fate, I await the mercurial silver claws that shall tear my flesh asunder, or the gleaming ivory fangs that shall bathe in my blood. I have dealt death so many times in my life; both carelessly and without thought, with premeditation and lust for revenge, and with simple lack of care.

But never did I imagine my own like this.

In the darkness of the cave, and the glow of the fire, she simply waits, immobile. And then… she moves. Somehow, she stands, and stretches, and when she is done, something new has taken her place.

Dry, bitter laughter chokes me, scalding tears searing my face even as, naked body pressed against mine, she carefully lifts me, and places me on a bed of furs.

Oh, oh, the irony. My death to be of that which I loathe most; that which cuts me so cruelly. Wouldn't my friends laugh to see me so…?

/-x-o-x-\\

It has been a month.

In silence, never uttering a word, she has cared for me. Tirelessly, ceaselessly, she has hunted prey both of crimson blood and green. With no apparent regard to the risk that she has taken, my saviour- to use such a word for one such as she- has given me all that I have asked for, and all that I have not.

Closest to the fire, she has given me her bed- a rich thing, this, a sumptuous nest of exquisitely cured and tanned hides, each one a kill that she has made herself. In this cave I have seen no others besides her, and weak as I am; have sensed no others, either.

There is only the silence, and the darkness that surrounds me.

For some time, I lay weak and delirious with fever, as my past returned to haunt me, until it seemed that I floated in a sea of the blood of those of whom I had slain. It rose, swamping me, clogging my nose and mouth until, surely, I must have drowned in it.

My wounds became infected and, in my brief moments of lucidity, I painfully gasped out the herbs that she must seek. It never occurred to me how she managed to find them, trapped as we where in the icy wastes. I never thought to ask how she knew how to brew the soothing liquid that warmed me from the inside out, or mix the thick paste that quelled the fire in my wounds.

Somehow, however, she did- and with never a word spoken on her part.

For a month, I tossed and turned and raged and wept, relieving each and every moment of my life, both sordid and joyful, until I felt that, surely, I must break from the strain of holding so much within me.

And, gently, gently, like the flicker of butterfly wings against the egde of my mind, my _other_ self shouldered my burdened; silently accepted my past, my fate, my destiny. Stood beside me in my nightmares, fought beside me in my dreams.

Smoothed himself over the joined portion of our soul until we mixed so freely that I knew nought of which was mine, and which his.

She knew.

Knew that when my eyes glimmered svelte viridian in the firelight, my hair a ruddy crimson streaked silver, that another peeked from behind my blurry gaze. Knew that the complex, intricately wrapped layers of my psyche where intrinsically bound with delicate ties and filigrees and bindings and knots and traps and memories and drowning in blood, the blood the blood, and falling onto packed dirt, the bamboo rustling around me, screams cut short and the blood thick in my nostrils and bathing me, covering me…

But not once did she speak. Not to play the intricacies of society, to mark her turf, to instruct me.

All that she did was, somehow, accomplished through slanted looks and subtle touches, furry ears slipping and sliding and flickering like the fire that burned, it burned, washing over me with a thick, cloying copper-iron tang that hit the back of my mouth like sweet ambrosia, dripping and curling and streaking in droplets of delicate crimson ivory, wending and winding about me in such an intricate filigree.

And she stayed.

A month, maybe more, she tenderly nursed me- giving me the first of her kill, the first rights of her nest, the first of the water and prime placing in her den. In any other situation, we would have been mates, for the privileges that she accorded me- and yet, never once did she ask of me anything in her silent, wordless way.

If I was difficult she deftly steered me to another course, distracting me, changing the path of my thoughts as she gently nudged puzzle pieces in my mind. I fought with myself; it is in a woman's heart to nurture, yes- but _this_?

Freely did she give all that she had to do so, despite the chilling, bleak scream of winter outside of the faceted rock cave, the walls so snug around us. Never did she ask of anything more- she simply gave, and gave, and gave…

Slowly, as time trickled buy, my sharpness softened. But not nearly enough- never enough. She didn't fit _anything_ that I knew; she slipped, like a waterfall of black silk, from any mould my mind sought to make from her. So familiar, and yet so not- a tiny movement would spar a chain of memories, before snuffing them as another delicate bead laced itself into place.

At once I knew her and yet I didn't; and gleefully, I devoted myself to solving her mystery, foregoing self introspection and the memories stalking my darkness.

In the end, however, she eluded me.

I couldn't leave- wouldn't leave- with this puzzle gnawing at me, tugging at me. So I did what I have always done- I trivialised it. With subtle gestures and scorching gazes, I 'lured' her to my bed; which had always been hers, to tell a truth.

Silent as always, a tender, rueful smile lurking at the corner of that generous mouth, she allowed me to do what I wished; to slip inside her, fill her, to lose the memory of her gentle giving in the mindless, base act that I had performed so many times without thought.

Proud of my heritage and the legends that surrounded it, I put a millennia of knowledge to good use, paying her back in the only way that I knew how- with my body.

And yet, in the end, she never made a single sound-_not one_.

As I left, the chill winter wind whipping through my torn and blood stained silk, I cast my thoughts back to her- the one waiting at the cave mouth- one last time. For she _had_ made sounds, I belatedly realised, but not ones that I had ever known.

Sounds of emotion, of a querying look, of a cautious touch, mouth quirking and ears twitching in so many remembered, subtle phrases. Body rumbling gently with the soft purr that worked throughout her once I was done, clouds of pure night gently obscuring her form from my gaze.

A faint, wry smile tugged at my mouth as I sought out with my mind, calling upon the one whom has known me longest; within seconds, I knew, whirling blue would take me from here and back to the banalities of life.

But the puzzle isn't finished- and I know, deep within myself, softened and roughed and sharp, bleeding edges that I am, that a puzzle left unfinished is a horrible thing, a terrible thing, a pricking, itching twitch upon my mind…

… and I know that someday, I'll come back again.


End file.
